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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24304048">lovefool</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/tnevmucric/pseuds/tnevmucric'>tnevmucric</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Persona 5, Persona Series</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Musical References, insp by the radio man in yongen, pt gang is also present, unbetad</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:42:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,010</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24304048</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/tnevmucric/pseuds/tnevmucric</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“next up on our list of top nostalgic songs is ‘love thief.’ that really takes me back... the world was a bit of a better place back then, you know”, the radio dj sighs. “here’s ‘love thief.’”</p><p>he watches akechi tilt his head, closing his eyes to listen to the smooth introduction of the song, the artist crooning out a gentle note—</p><p>“do you listen to a lot of music?”, he asks.</p><p>akechi opens his eyes, blinks. his smile is small and genuine, but rigid around the corners.</p><p>“no”, he lies.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Akechi Goro &amp; Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro &amp; Persona 5 Protagonist, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>96</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>lovefool</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Leblanc’s radio is made up of banged up metal and an orange wood that he reckons might set on fire one of these days. The antenna is crooked, held together by a wad of duct tape, so much so that it really shouldn’t work: but it does.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sojiro’s turned it on instead of the T.V. today but none of the customers seem to mind, least of all Goro Akechi who has been loitering in the café for the past three hours. Drinking the same blend over and over again, Akira wonders how he’s not sick of it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>“Next up on our list of top nostalgic songs is ‘Love Thief.’ That really takes me back... The world was a bit of a better place back then, you know”,</em> the radio DJ sighs.<em> “Here’s ‘Love Thief.’”</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He watches Akechi tilt his head, closing his eyes to listen to listen to the smooth introduction of the song, the artist crooning out a gentle note—</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you listen to a lot of music?”, he asks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akechi opens his eyes, blinks. His smile is small and genuine, rigid around the corners.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No”, he lies. “I should really be going. Thank you for the coffee, Kurusu-kun, Boss.” Sojiro gives him a vague wave as he flicks through the newspaper, cigarette perched between his knuckles. Akira just goes back to wiping down tables.<br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p>
<hr/><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They find an impossibly older, clunkier radio on the rooftop at Shujin. Ryuji fiddles with it while Akira steals answers from Ann about their English homework. It’s a colder day today, but rain isn’t on the horizon. When a song begins to crackle through the tinny speakers, Ann brightens like the sun.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, I love this station. Leave it on.”<br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p>
<hr/><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There’s a leak in Leblanc’s roof that’s dripping down into the café late at night. While Morgana has taken cover beneath his duvet upstairs, Akira begrudgingly gets to his hands and knees, mopping up what he can and listening to the mismatched pinging of water droplets falling into various pots and pans as the radio crackles from the counter.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">“You’re with 82.5 where the storm can’t even touch me in my weather-proof booth—what’ll it be, caller?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">“Dōkoku by Shizuka Kudo, if you please.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>“A classic</em>”, the DJ applauds.<em> “What’s your name, man?”</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Eiji from Ueno.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">“This ones for you, Eiji from Ueno: Dōkoku by Shizuka Kudo. I remember listening to this back in middle school.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akira sighs, throwing the useless hand-towel to the floor with a loud smack. It only soaks more water into the floor. He glances at the clock by the entrance—1:38 AM—and goes back to cleaning.<br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p>
<hr/><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s waiting tables at Crossroads when Lala flicks the radio on. His kimono is green today, bright green and silky, adorned with a jasmine-flower print. He offers a red-lipped smile to an especially touchy patron and ducks behind the counter again. Lala smooths his long hair over his shoulder and tells him he can take a break.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Even in the back room he can hear the DJ chattering on. He’s slipping off his heels as the next song is announced.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>“An old favourite of mine”,</em> he’s saying,<em> “my girlfriend hates it though.”</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He tunes out, rubbing at a small blister threatening to form on his ankle. He catches a glimpse of himself in the large mirror Lala has propped up by her desk—he doesn’t recognise himself.<br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p>
<hr/><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He spots Akechi at the station on a Wednesday. He fiddles with the hem of his blue vest, twisting a loose thread around two of his fingers and tugging—it snaps.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They take different trains which is disappointing, but in the silence of early morning commuters and above the derailing noise of his train arriving, Akira swears he could have heard Akechi humming along to the song the speakers were playing above.<br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p>
<hr/><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Iwai has him polishing old stock when the DJ announces it as <em>minute-to-midnight</em> requests time. A voice, pleasant enough, greets the radio presenter. Akira looks up at the small radio—he recognises this voice.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“Good evening caller, what’ll it be tonight?”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>“Zenzenzensei”, </em>Goro Akechi says, <em>“RADWIMPS.”</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akira almost drops the gun he’s holding.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“And what’s your name?”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>“Tanaka”</em>, Akechi lies.<em> “From Aoyama.”</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“Well Tanaka from Aoyama, here’s Zenzenzensei by RADWIMPS. Shout out to any lonely hearts out there tonight.”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Iwai glances up from his magazine with a </span>
  <em>
    <span class="s2">tch</span>
  </em>
  <span class="s1">.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I can’t stand this kind of music—and watch how you’re holding that damn thing. I don’t want you to damage the trigger.”<br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p>
<hr/><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akira’s not exactly sure how he convinces Akechi to join him in the bathhouse, but he’s not complaining in the slightest. Their silence is companionable and familiar, something Akira would regularly bask in, but tonight can’t seem to help but break. His gaze darts to and from Akechi beside him; completely still and submerged to his collar in the hot water, his hair is tied back with a pink lackey. Akira finds it thoroughly astounding.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, I hate this song.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akira jumps, the water splashes. Goro’s face is scrunched up but he hasn’t moved, hasn’t even opened his own eyes. The radio can be heard from the change rooms, playing a newly-popular Risette hit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Then what songs do you like?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Goro peers at him through the steam, then. </span>
  <span class="s2"><em>Coy</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t listen to music, Kurusu-kun.” Akira leans a little closer, tilting his head back against the edge of the bath to make their shoulders bump.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hypothetically.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hypothetically?” Akechi’s mouth twitches, threatening a smile. He angles his head away from Akira, closing his eyes again and effectively ending their contact. “Jazz.”<br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p>
<hr/><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s in Akihabara with Futaba on his shoulders, holding her up to the speaker in the corner of the store as she outstretches her phone.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hold still”, she chides, digging her ankle into his side. “Shazam isn’t working.”<br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p>
<hr/><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akechi becomes Goro, and honorifics are exchanged for the musical way Goro says his name.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The train is as overcrowded as it will allow itself for a Saturday night and they’re forced to stand in one of the far corners, sharing an overhead handle and too much leg space to be comfortable. Goro starts bopping his head along to the song playing from someone’s headphones.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I like this one”, he says.<br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p>
<hr/><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">From the train, Goro leads him through the streets of Kichijōji. It’s unfamiliar territory, and Akira can’t really pinpoint if it’s the pull of Goro’s hand around his wrist or the warmth of overhead streetlights having him feel so flushed, but soon enough they’re ducking into a nondescript Jazz club, where a woman is readying to take the stage</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We’re just in time”, Goro tells him, pulling him to the nearest table.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“For what?” Akira asks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’ll see.” Goro doesn’t let go of his wrist even as they sit down. “Just listen.”<br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p>
<hr/><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A cold front sweeps the night ahead and they stick close to each other without saying much. There’s a hum in the air, a bustle to the streets, and Akira’s ears perk up at the sound of a radio playing a song he thinks he might love.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Goro realises he’s stopped walking and looks back in confusion, taking in Akira’s growing confidence and immediately stepping back: “Oh, don’t, Akira—“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s my favourite song”, Akira insists, interrupting his retreat by pulling him back, gripping both of his hands and beginning to shimmy their shoulders. “I have rights.” The grin on his face hurts with how wide he’s smiling. Goro laughs, a choked sound. He is a lovely shade of red.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I have a reputation—<em>Akira—!</em>”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The song plays, drones on between their breaths of frost, and Akira tilts his head back, yelling the lyrics to the answerless sky, dragging Goro through a stupid dance, the kind only children know. Goro laughs when he is spun. The radio from the apparent food stand is cranked up, as if in support. Some people in the street laugh at Akira’s antics, Goro’s reluctance, a couple or two join in. Kichijōji is alive, and Akira’s heart races with it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">This small corner of this large city doesn’t think, for these few minutes, for these few minutes there is the silly kind of joy that comes with youth, and touches even the oldest passerby who wriggles along to the song as he walks by with his dog.<br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p>
<hr/><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He can’t look at Goro when they’re all cramped into the sports office. He can’t even think.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p>
<hr/><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ann’s fingers are a glittery pink, splayed out on the cushion as he swipes another coat of nail polish over her thumb.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>“You know you’re something special and you look like you’re the best”</em>, she sings along to some English song playing from her phone, waving her spoon around as the tub of ice cream continues to melt between their thighs. “<em>Her name is Rio and she dances on the sand!</em> Sing it with me, Akira!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When the spoon-turned-microphone is thrust into his face, he does sing along.<br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p>
<hr/><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The drums are fantastic”, Goro is raving on, laid back on Akira’s bed, gloveless hands gesturing passionately and hair splayed out beneath him. Leant up on his elbow with his back to the wall, keeping as much distance between them as he can on a king-single bed, Akira realises he is very much in love. “People always overlook newer albums when it comes to ranking the entire discography of an older artist, but that’s just some caricature of elitism. It’s a revolutionary album, truly one of his best. It was an insight into death that no other—“<br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p>
<hr/><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey Mona”, Ryuji leans over the seats, looking at the dashboard over Makoto’s shoulder as she drove through a particularly eerie level of Mementos. “Think you can tune in to the radio?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As it turns out, he cannot.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p>
<hr/><p class="p2"><br/>
Kawakami is writing sharply on the chalkboard, Ann turns in her seat and sneaks a couple of gumdrops into his pencil case when he kicks her chair, and he’s leaning his ear against his hand, hiding the headphone there.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>“Akina Nakamori”</em>, Goro Akechi requests, pretending to be Hatamori from Kanda. <em>“Nanpasen.”</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akira wonders where he finds the time.<br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p>
<hr/><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The radio on the roof has been replaced by a brand new, faux-retro one courtesy of Haru. While they clip at tomatoes and replant herbs, Akira finds himself humming along.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  
</p>
<hr/><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akira is regularly reminded how much of a fool he is. Akira is also regularly reminded of not getting too close to things that will burn him in the end. This does not stop him from borrowing Leblanc’s radio and texting Goro in the middle of the night.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">&gt; hey are you awake</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><strong>Goro Akechi [12:58 AM]:</strong> <em>I am.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><strong>Goro Akechi [12:58 AM]:</strong> <em>Why?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>“Hello caller”</em>, the DJ’s voice rings in his ear.<em> “Or rather, good morning! What song’ll it be?”</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Kyoko Koizumi”, Akira’s closes his eyes to the ceiling. “Flower.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Ooh, and would you like to dedicate that to anyone tonight?”</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akira smiles. It hurts again. </span>
  <em>
    <span class="s2">The Phantom Thief leader will commit suicide—</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“To anyone who’s still awake.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>“To anyone who’s still awake!”</em>, The DJ crows. <em>“This is Flower by Kyoko Koizumi.”</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">&gt; just wanted to wish you a goodnight</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><strong>Goro Akechi [1:19 AM]:</strong> <em>Goodnight Akira.</em><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p>
<hr/><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The bruises have a bone-deep ache. Takemi had quietly checked to see if his jaw was fractured but </span>
  <em>
    <span class="s2">no, no it’s just swelling. </span>
  </em>
  <span class="s1">He hurtled wildly between wanting to close his eyes and never open them again and keeping them open out of the debilitating fear that someone was there, somewhere in the dark of his room, ready to slam him into the wall and break his fingers. Again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">(Takemi had taped those up, too.)</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Leblanc’s radio is on downstairs, Sojiro cleaning down for the night, posting a notice that the café would be closed for an undefined amount of time.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>“No More What Ifs”</em>, he hears Goro say.<em> “Lyn Inaizumi.”</em> The DJ’s voice goes soft, as if he knows it’s a delicate moment he’s privy on.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">“Would you like to dedicate that to anyone, caller?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There’s a long, steady silence where Akira thinks Goro might actually say his name.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“No.”</em>
  </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank u for reading!</p><p>— tnevmucric.carrd.co</p></blockquote></div></div>
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